


What was Forgotten and Bigger Problems

by sanitysrebellion



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Additional Characters, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hawke as Inquisitor AU, Rewrite of Earlier Posted Work, Slow Burn, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 06:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3757933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanitysrebellion/pseuds/sanitysrebellion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The name 'Evelyn Trevelyan' fit like a glove. The problem was the glove didn't seem to belong to her. But when there's a hole in the sky and demons threaten all of Thedas there are bigger problems than not remembering your own name. This ill-fitting glove of an identity would have to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Began in a Cell

**Author's Note:**

> Note: If you feel like you've read this before you might have. I posted it months ago under the name 'Loveliest Lies of All' then decided I hated everything and took it down to work on it. Now we're finally ready to try again.

The prisoner sat in the center of the holding room, hands bound in front of her and knees damp from kneeling. Her clothing was mud covered and strangely singed, the armored pauldrons dented, and a single glove missing. Her face was splattered with as much mud as her clothes, one side almost completely covered as if she had landed in a puddle. What might have been freckles were barely visible, though it simply could have been more mud. Her hair must have been longer in the time before her imprisonment- if the few bits that managed to be unscathed were any indication-but whatever had singed her clothing had been equally unkind to it. The half that wasn’t caked in muck was beginning to curl around her chin and neck.

It seemed almost impossible to judge the passing of time in the cell, apart from the continuous _drip, drip, drip_ of a leak somewhere beyond her line of sight and the occasional shuffling of the guards surrounding her. As it was the guards didn’t move much. They remained as stationary as they could manage, swords pointed and gaze locked. Almost as if they expected her to burst into flame at any given moment, or perhaps erupt into a hideous abomination and eat one of their heads. Maybe they did, maybe she would. Honestly, there was very little she was sure of now.

The prisoner sighed, shoulders dropping in a transparent attempt to find some semblance of comfort. Emotions were running so high in the confined space, for a moment she swore that she could smell them- taste them past the lingering blood and dirt. Panic, desperation, grief. _Fear._ She shut her eyes, willing her muscles to relax. To ignore the unnatural green glow of her ungloved hand and the crawling, burning pain that came with it.

Focus on what you know. That was the problem, wasn’t it? There didn’t seem to be much she knew. Everything before waking up with the armed guards surrounding her was a blank. No, that wasn’t completely true. There were things she knew. She was a mage, she knew that as surely as she knew the mark on her hand was wrong, could feel the magic in her bones strangely sporadic and active. She knew where she was- at least she knew she was in Ferelden. The Divine had called a Conclave in hopes of calming the tensions between the mages and templars of Thedas. It had ended in fire. 

The prisoner shifted, setting off pins-and-needles in her legs. She ran her tongue over her dry lips and tasted mud for her efforts. The very idea of an explosion at the Chantry had set her heart racing. _You should have been able to prevent this._ Why? She remembered running, trying desperately to reach someone, something. An outstretched hand, bright against the darkness.

_You should have been able to prevent this._

The door swung open and clattered into the wall with enough force that it was a testament to whomever had crafted it that it still remained on its hinges. The prisoner jerked, bristling like a startled cat. She made a move as if to scramble onto he feet but the guards’ swords and the fact that her legs had gone numb prevented it. As the two new women entered the room the guards sheathed their weapons and stepped away to provide adequate room. 

The woman in front was clad in armor emblazoned with a symbol the prisoner did not recognize yet seemed vaguely familiar. It wasn’t a Templar symbol, which was a small bit of comfort. The woman’s face was set, jaw clenched so tight it was a wonder she didn’t crack a tooth. Her steps were heavy, echoing the fire in her eyes, but purposeful. There was little doubt in the prisoner’s mind that this woman was looking for answers and she expected to find them here.

The second woman walked with steps so quiet they were almost inaudible, especially when compared to her companion's. Her armor was light and equally quiet, a length of purple fabric wrapped around her head, red hair just visible beneath it, and fastened near the shoulder to form a loose cowl of sorts. It seemed soft and delicate, almost as if the woman was trying to appear the opposite of her companion in every way. She was much less imposing than the first woman but there was a subtle sort of danger about her. 

“Tell me,” the first woman began, leaning in so close that the prisoner could now see her clearly even in the dim light. Her hair was dark and short, styled in a way that wouldn’t hinder combat, and there was a prominent scar along her cheek. None of her demeanor was simple posturing and bluff. She spoke with an accent the woman on the floor could not place. “Why I shouldn’t kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except-” she straightened then, pointing down at the prisoner, the next words as heavy as the bindings on her wrists. “for _you_.”

The prisoner swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. The prison cell felt that much colder, except for her bare hand that seemed to be burning hot. She knew the implications, they weren’t hard to piece together. They thought her guilty; responsible for those countless deaths. Her stomach rolled at the thought.

“All those people.” There had been so many. She could remember flashes of faces, faint echoes of voices. People she didn’t know- hoped she hadn’t known- but people that were now gone. “There’s really no one else?”

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes was destroyed.” There was emotion in the armored woman’s voice, intense and raw but shut down before it could be identified. “The guards arrived in time to see you fall out of a rift in the Fade. Just you.”

“I don’t-”

“Then explain this.” the dark haired woman reached out, yanking one of the prisoner’s arms up. The ungloved hand crackled with green light, making the captive’s bones ache.

“I don’t know what that is! Or how it got there! Please!”

It seemed that wasn’t the answer the warrior woman had been wanting to hear. “Bullshit.” she all but hissed, dropping the prisoner’s arm and making a motion as if to take hold of a sword that should have been at her side but was now absent. “You’re lying.”

The woman with the cowl stepped between them, somehow managing to move the dark haired woman away with just a hand at her shoulder. “We need her, Cassandra.”

The armored woman- Cassandra- made a noise of distaste. “We need answers.”

The redhead didn’t respond, instead she turned to face the prisoner speaking directly to her for the first time since entering the cell. “Do you remember how this all started? Do you remember what happened?” She also had an accent, the prisoner noted vaguely. Different from Cassandra’s. Orleasian.

The brunette on the floor shook her head, mismatched locks rustling against her neck-scarf. “I don’t even remember my name.”

“You remember nothing?”

“I..” the prisoner paused, eyes narrowing slightly as she searched her hazy mind. The words were hard to grasp, the images fuzzy. She wasn’t sure if they were real at all. “I remember...things. Enormous...spiders? They were chasing me and there was...a woman. I was reaching for her hand and..?”

“A woman?” That seemed to have meant something important, though the captive woman couldn’t begin to know what. The redhead looked to her companion, a silent agreement shared between them.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana.” Cassandra sighed, finally providing a name for the woman in the cowl. “I will take her to the Rift.”

From the sound of it they weren’t going to kill her, the prisoner should have been grateful for that, but there was something ultimately more foreboding in the way that sentence had been said. The Rift. 

“What did happen?” the prisoner questioned tentatively as Cassandra moved to release her shackles. The heavy iron clattered to the floor and her wrists felt strange without their weight. “What is ‘the Rift’?”

She watched the warrior woman straighten, frown down at her from where she still kneeled, and turn towards the doorway without a word. For a moment the prisoner thought her questions would go unanswered. Maybe because Cassandra had learned that she knew nothing there was no longer any point in speaking to her. The words that were said provided no answers and even less comfort.

“It would be easier to show you.”

The sky was on fire. Whatever the prisoner- or was she more of a captive now?- had been expecting when she followed Cassandra outside it wasn’t this. The atmosphere was electric, as if a powerful storm had settled over the area, waiting to strike. Everything was bathed in the eerie green light emitting from...whatever it was in the sky.

“Is that the Rift?” the mage questioned, slowly tearing her eyes away from the unnaturally green sky to turn her gaze to the armored woman standing a stride ahead of her.

“That is the Breach.” Something in Cassandra’s tone made the brunette feel silly for even asking. “It’s a giant rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“But-” Her next words died on her lips, replaced with an anguished scream as her knees, still damp and sore from her time in the cell, buckled. Green light matching the wounded sky flared up, crackling across the bare skin of the mage’s hand. It felt as if her blood was on fire, an unimaginable pain far worse than it had been inside the cell. Then it was over and she was left on the ground, stomach rolling and arm numb. A lingering reminder; as if the glowing slash across her palm wasn’t enough.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark grows.” the warrior knelt down, taking the captive by her rope bindings and hauling her back onto her feet. “And it is killing you. Even I can see that.” It wasn’t concern in her voice, not exactly. “It may be the key to stopping all this, to keep it from swallowing all the world, but there isn’t much time.”

The brunette struggled to regain normal breathing, still feeling shaky and hot from the mark’s expansion. As she found her footing Cassandra’s eyes met her own, gaze as steely as the shield now strapped to her back. There would be no arguing. It was come willingly or be dragged.

“I understand.”

“Do you?” Doubt was evident in the Seeker’s words. The captive had learned the term when Cassandra had retrieved her weapons and shield when leaving the cell. One of the guards had referred to her as such. Lady Seeker, Seeker Pentaghast. What that meant, the captive still wasn’t sure.

“I’ll do what I can. Whatever it takes.” Agreeing was certainly better than the alternative. The captive held little doubt that if Cassandra felt the need to drag her along it would not be done gently. She was sore and bruised enough already.

The intense woman watched her for a moment, looking down her nose at the dirty brunette as if scrutinizing her motives. The captive fought the urge to shift on her feet and look away. Even if she wasn’t lying, not really, it was difficult to meet such a hard gaze head on. 

“Very well.” In one swift movement Cassandra produced a dagger from her belt and cut the captive’s rope bindings. “There will be a trial after this. That is all I can promise you. Now-”

“Oh, wait!” the mud covered brunette held out a newly freed hand- the one that still had its glove- and winced slightly as she realized she’d interrupted the other woman. “Could I, er, borrow that?” 

She dropped her hand slightly, gesturing half-heartedly with a single finger to the blade half returned to the other woman’s belt. The expression that crossed Cassandra’s face was caught somewhere between disbelief and wondering just how stupid she thought the warrior was.

“It’s just,” she continued quickly, motioning with her gloved hand to the side of her head that (presumably) wasn’t caked in mud and still held the longest pieces of her hair. “I’m feeling a little lopsided? I thought I could-”

“No.” If anything in the Seeker’s tone left room for argument the fact that she sheathed the knife in her belt and continued walking did not. “We must test your mark on something smaller than the Breach. Keep up. The townsfolk will not take kindly to the idea of you walking around unaccompanied.”

“What?” the brunette blinked, jogging lightly to catch up to the other woman’s long and purposeful strides. “What do you mean?”

“They have already decided your guilt.” The answer was simple enough. Even if Cassandra had chosen not to provide it the faces of the people they passed made it obvious. Many people watched that captive pass, eyes burning with anger and fists clenched tight. Many more simply looked away too disgusted, or perhaps too afraid, to meet her eye. “The people of Heaven mourn the death of the Most Holy, Divine Justinia, Head of the Chanty. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together and now they are dead.”

Peace. The mud splattered woman frowned but said nothing. Would it really have been that simple? If the Conclave had never exploded would there have been progress? No, even with the Divine willing to listen it seemed unlikely to think anything would have been solved so simply. She didn’t need to remember her own name to be sure of that. If this had never occurred something would have ended the day in tragedy. It wasn’t until she glanced back at the woman walking ahead of her that she realized Cassandra was still talking.

“The Rift isn’t far. But we must hurry.”

She followed the Seeker’s gaze to the bridge in front of them, a closed gate at the far end. Faintly, amid the snow, she could see a faint and winding path stretching out behind it. Only slightly visible from the few travels it had seen since the most recent snowfall.

“Right.” she began, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders. Ignoring their groan and pop of protest, the stiffness an annoyance she had nearly forgotten about, and hoping she’d managed to put a bit of confidence into her voice. “Lead the way.”


	2. Fighting and Introductions

“This is getting old,” the captive groaned as she found herself half buried in a pile of snow and stray debris, now cold as well as sore. If she made it through the day without becoming one giant bruise it would be a small miracle. Before she and Cassandra were even halfway across the bridge and into the valley something had fallen from the glowing green monstrosity in the sky, removing a good chunk of the bridge itself. Of course the two women, and several crates of supplies, had gone tumbling to the snow covered ground. It hadn’t been a very long fall, thankfully, but even still it had hurt.

The Seeker was already back on her feet; her heavier armor no doubt responsible for her faster recovery. Her expression was hard, fixated on a point several feet ahead of them. A mass was writhing on the ice, all darkness and green throbbing energy. The massage was clear: something was coming.

“On your feet,” the warrior readied her weapon and shield, eyes never leaving the threat forming in front of them. “and stay behind me!”

Almost the very instant the mage had regained proper footing Cassandra charged. The brunette hadn’t seen what had formed from the glowing mass but the sound of the metal shield crashing into flesh signaled that something had. From its cry of anger the something was rather large to boot. But problems tend to come in pairs and the thing- _demon_ , her mind insisted, _Shade_ \- hadn’t come alone. Not even a stone’s throw away another was forming, rising up with jerky movements and a growl of challenge.

“Well, shit.” Cassandra was an excellent warrior but the idea of scrambling around, trying to avoid being gored, while the Seeker finished with her current combatant was hardly appealing. She would at least have to attempt to hold her own, for the sake of her own pride if nothing else.

There was a supply crate several feet away. It had fallen off the bridge with them and the captive had seen it when she’d first pulled herself back onto her feet. She could get to it, hope there was something useful inside. Or... A thought occurred to her, blossoming slowly through the panic of the rapidly forming demon. She was a mage, wasn’t she? She might not have had a staff but she didn’t _need_ one.

The air around was already cold, the focus point created by a staff wouldn’t be needed if she used Winter magic. In fact, the snow-covered mountaintop might even work in her favor. The fully-formed Shade shrieked, lunging for the still dirty brunette with it’s claws, but she wasn’t afraid.

“Well,” despite the situation the captive could feel a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, confidence building with the magic at her palms. “Let’s see how well this works.”

Claws cut through the air, smacking against the frozen ground where the mage had been standing only moments before. Though she had avoided the blow, she still felt the force of it as it passed. The thing could rend an arm from the body without so much as a second thought. 

“Right,” she frowned, back-stepping farther as she released the gathered magic at the demon. “Don’t let it get that close again.”

Ice formed along the creature’s flesh- shadow?- where the magic hit. Frosting over larger areas, shattering frozen shards along the ground when it strained to move. The Shade screeched in pain or anger; the mage wasn’t sure which. Perhaps both, assuming it had proper emotions.

Her foot caught a rock hidden by the snowfall and she toppled back with a scream (no doubt earning herself a new set of bruises). The outcry might have alerted Cassandra, there was a pause in the sounds of the Seeker’s fighting. They resumed quickly enough, the warrior still involved with her own fight. 

The ice-covered Shade moved with surprising speed for its condition, though it lost large chunks of itself in doing so. It towered over the fallen mage, all teeth and claws, ready to lunge and devour her alive. This time its prey would not escape.

“Gotcha,” she lifted a finger, pointing at the snarling maw of the shadow creature. Magic exploded with a blast of cold air, chilling even the mage. The Shade screamed- a terrible, agonizing sound cut short as the ice incased it. 

For a moment it stood frozen, looming over the brunette sprawled on the snow and ice. A grotesque sculpture at odds with the natural peace of the mountainside. Then it shattered, raining ice and frozen demon bits down on the mage. She groaned, flinging her arms up to shield her face and cursing her poor planning. When she lowered her arms again the sore and battered brunette found herself looking up not at the sky but Cassandra’s frown-marred face.

“Uh?” The woman who had replaced the demon towering above her still had her sword drawn. Unwilling to remove herself from the ground but not wanting to be so close to sword point the captive pressed her feet to the ground, using them to scoot herself as far away as she dared to move.

“I can’t very well tell you to drop your weapon,” the stern-faced woman glared down at the brunette, grip still tight on her blade. “when you didn’t even use one.”

“I didn’t, er, have a staff?” the woman on the ground offered, rather lamely, unsure of what to do with her hands. The last thing she wanted was for the Seeker to think she was readying an attack.

“I’m aware.” Cassandra’s response was short, though her sword was returned to its sheath. Even if she seemed somewhat reluctant to do so. “But I suppose you haven’t attacked me yet. And I would do well to remember you came willingly.”

As she pulled herself once again to her feet the captive thought that she and Cassandra must have different ideas of ‘willingly’. Coming along to avoid being dragged was hardly the same thing. She chose not to voice her opinion, however.

“But I can’t have you slinging spells around like some untrained apprentice.” the Seeker insisted, that frown of hers never leaving her face. “We check the supply crate that fell with us. With any luck perhaps there is something in there.”

“Why would you have staves in your supply crates?” The idea seemed rather strange and unlikely. Was the Seeker such a hopeful thinker?

Cassandra huffed, as if the answer should have been obvious. “The Conclave was to be peace talks between the Templars and mages, as you well know. Being a peace talk no weapons were to be taken inside.”

The captive paused, midway through her attempts to shake the snow from inside her clothing, and looked over at the Seeker. “You..you want me to use a dead mage’s staff?”

“It is only temporary.” 

The brunette imagined that was supposed to be a comfort. It honestly wasn’t. Mages had a tendency to favor a certain kind of staff: one best suited to their preferred style of magic or even one aesthetically pleasing. Most used the same staff their entire lives if possible. Despite the holes in her memory she was certain she’d even heard stories of some apostates carving their own or families with heirloom staves passed down through the line. Though that last one could have been some Tevinter rumor. 

“I suppose it would be possible to find your own staff.” the Seeker added, an awkward ring to the edges of her speech. Perhaps she was sensing the mage’s hesitation. “But there is no time for that now and you are more dangerous with unfocused magic. We have little time to dawdle.”

“I understand.” The words tasted sour in her mouth, but Cassandra was right. There was little choice and a long way to go. She would have to set aside the twisting of her stomach and the unspoken taboo. There were worse things ahead, the mage was certain of it.

By some sheer force of luck or Andraste’s divine will there had been a staff inside the supply box. There had been several, in fact, though most were carved wood or exceedingly decorative and had shattered along with the crate on impact. The one that had been in the best condition was still wood- though a darker, sturdier kind- with straps of cured leather wrapped around the grip. The leather had been replaced recently, a bright shock of red against the snowy environment, but there was wear around the grip. This had been a well used, well loved, staff. Residual magic lingering around the weapon called to mind images of fire and the captive felt a little warmer holding it. It wasn’t hers, but it would serve well no matter the magic she used.

Inside the box amid the damaged staves had been blades of various sizes, most notably the standard swords of the Templar Order. They had survived the fall from the bridge a good deal better than their wooden companions, but the brunette couldn’t help but wonder whose idea it had been to store the opposing symbols together. A poor joke, perhaps? Past the Order swords she had found a single dagger, its twin no doubt lost somewhere in the snow-covered landscape. But a single dagger was all she needed.

“We don’t have time for this.” Cassandra chastised as the mage gathered up the mismatched portions of her hair. Some of the dried mud flaked off with the movement, but it made little difference.

“This will only take a second.” she insisted, taking the dagger to her hair as she spoke. It took all of her willpower not to add ‘and maybe you should have let me do it earlier’ to the end of her sentence. 

The dagger cut smoothly, slicing through the strands of reddish-brown hair with minimal resistance. The captive had little idea if she had done well to even-up her hair without a reflective surface- Cassandra would have no doubt swung at her for trying to use her armor as a makeshift mirror- but it would have to do. She no longer felt quite so lopsided, which was a small plus amid the day. “There, see?”

“Ridiculous,” was the only response the Seeker offered. If Cassandra meant the impromptu haircut or the entire action in general, the captive wasn’t sure. “We are wasting time.”

“Remind me again, where are we going?” the mage questioned, tucking the dagger safely into her belt and adjusting it slightly so it wouldn’t stab her as she jogged to catch up with Cassandra’s long strides.

The warrior frowned but still supplied an answer. “There are rifts similar to the Breach that have appeared along with it. There is an..associate who has theorized that the mark on your hand might be able to seal the Breach itself. However it needs to be tested on something smaller. That is where we are headed.”

“So,” it was the captive’s turn to frown. Confusion knitting her eyebrows together, casting a glance at the stern woman striding ahead of her across the snow. There was confidence and determination in Cassandra’s stride. “What’s going to happen? You’re going to toss me at this rift and hope it closes up?”

To be honest the brunette wasn’t sure what Cassandra and these apparent associates of hers had planned. She wasn’t even completely sure what these rifts were. She had seen the Breach- could still see it, a glowing green wound across the sky- but these were supposed to be smaller. ‘Smaller’ didn’t necessarily mean ‘closer to the ground’.

“If it comes to that.” There was no humor in the Seeker’s voice.

Silence for several moments, the only sounds between them were the crunching of their footfalls on the snow and their breathing. Then, tentatively, the mage posed another question. One that had been lurking in the back of her mind since they had set off into the snowy mountainside. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then,” Cassandra sighed, a sort of resignation in her voice that seemed out of place. An option she did not want to face. “Then we are all doomed.”

Quiet fell over the women again, their walking hastened with the urgency of the situation. The captive could feel it, lurking behind them, growing larger as the seconds passed. A hungry animal ready to pounce. The mark on her hand burned against the smooth wood of her borrowed staff, made her fingers feel numb. Dimly she wondered what would happen to her if Cassandra’s plan worked. Would the mark simply disappear? Or would she disappear with it?

Her darkened thoughts were cut short as the mage walked face first into the shield strapped to Cassandra’s back. The Seeker grunted- and might have glared over her shoulder at the brunette- but was otherwise unmoved. Quickly the captive stepped back, rubbing at her nose with her free hand as she tried to figure out why Cassandra had stopped short.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you hear that?” Cassandra tipped her head, gesturing with her chin and a nod in the direction ahead of them. Several feet away was a staircase, nearly lost against the mountainside from the snow covering it. A barely visible path lead away from it a short distance before the tree-line blocked it from view.

“Sounds like,” the captive squinted, as if narrowing her eyes would aid her in discerning the noises. The sounds were close enough to hear, carried through the trees by the cold mountain wind, but muffled enough by trees and snow that they weren’t quite recognizable. “fighting?”

“It must be them,” the Seeker said, heading for the staircase and taking them two at a time. It seemed the armor-clad woman had little fear of finding ice beneath the snow and slipping; or perhaps she hadn’t even considered it.

“Some sort of majestic, armor covered deer.” the mage decided, scrambling to catch up with the other woman. It seemed more accurate to compare the woman to a Druffalo after seeing her in battle, plowing into her enemies and running them through with her blade, but there was no denying she could be graceful. Apparently without even trying to be.

The area the two women came upon was little more than upturned snow and the crumbled ruins of what once might have been a shack or a small house. A swirling mass of green light hovered several feet off the ground. It bathed the entire area in an eerie green hue, making the entire place somehow look sick. The mark across the captive’s hand reacted as they drew near, sending another bolt of pain through her arm.

Logic, what little of it could still be applied to this situation, dictated that must have been ‘the Rift’ Cassandra had mentioned. The mage was relieved to see that it was only a few feet from the ground. She was less relieved to see the small herd of demons that had apparently climbed through the swirling green miasma and out of the Fade. Or was it a ‘pack’? Did demons even have a group denomination?

An arrow whizzed past her face- drawing the brunette from her pointless musings, reminding her that a fight was happening- and imbedded itself in the eye of an approaching demon. The Shade shrieked in pain, clawing at its face, and thrashing about. The captive sidestepped, realizing just how close the monster had been, but there was little point. The Shade collapsed to the floor and faded into wisps of black smoke.

“Here! To me!” The shout came from the opposite direction of the arrow causing the Mage to whip her head around, searching. Her gaze found a bald elf, standing uncomfortably close the Rift itself and waving her over. His other hand held tight to a staff, similar to the one she had borrowed, the tip aglow with magical energy. Behind him another demon cried out, struggling against the barrier cast around it as it slowly began to shrink.

With no time to second-guess his intentions the human mage sprinted across the short distance between her, the other mage, and the swirling affront to the natural order. She opened her mouth to question the point of getting close to the thing demons would crawl out of, but before a sound could leave her mouth the elf had taken ahold of her wrist. In one motion he managed to knock her borrowed staff from her grip, accidentally sending it skittering across the snowy ground, and brought her now empty hand towards the Rift. 

Both the mark across her palm and the Rift reacted, green light pulsating. For a moment the captive was blinded and another wave of pain made her arm go numb. When her vision finally cleared, save for a few lingering spots dancing across her line of sight, her arm was free and both the Rift and the demons had vanished. Disappeared as if they had never really been there.

“Well,” the elf smiled, offering her the borrowed staff he must have retrieved in the few moments she had been blinded. “That worked better than I had hoped.”

“You...you didn’t know if that would work?” the human mage took a moment to rub at her eyes with the heel of her ungloved hand before taking ahold of the borrowed staff. The residual magic in the wood warmed her bare fingers in a way the mark’s brief burst of power had not.

“I had a theory,” the bald man admitted, “but no way of testing it until you arrived. Fortunately, my theory was correct. It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“No pressure or anything,” the captive grumbled, the words an irritable aside to herself. This seemed like an awful lot of faith for a bunch of strangers to put into her and a theory.

Now that the threat of battle had passed she was able to get a better look at the other mage, past her initial impression of ‘bald’ and ‘elf’. He was dressed for travel and well used to it, if the neatly arranged pack was any indication. An apostate, then? From her vague recollections the brunette didn’t think many former Circle mages would have thought to bring their own cup. Still, wasn’t he cold walking in the snow when his feet were practically bare?

“And here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever,” a new voice spoke up. The tone was joking, a witty quip to lighten the mood, but there was an underlying truth to his words.

The brunette turned, eyes searching for the new speaker. The dwarf’s shirt was a bright shock of color against the snowy landscape, even with his jacket covering most of it. He was lacking the impressive beards usually seen on his people, but there was something subtle in his well maintained scruff that implied he liked it better that way. Propped against his shoulder was what the captive could only assume to be a crossbow, though one of very unusual design. He must have been responsible for that arrow earlier. She should remember to thank him. 

When the dwarf caught the captive’s gaze his smirk faltered. For a moment he stared, eyebrows knitting together, as if she were a puzzle and he didn’t have all the pieces. Then she blinked and all the confidence and swagger returned. “Seeker, did you honestly have to drag the girl here? I’ve seen Carta goods show up less damaged and dirty.”

From somewhere behind the captive’s shoulder Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “I did no such thing.”

“We fell off a bridge,” the captive offered. Likely that explanation did little good, as she could feel the Seeker’s glare on the back of her head. Nervously the brunette shifted, tugging at the fabric tied around her neck. “So, you two are with the Chantry?”

She had thought it was a perfectly reasonable question considering the circumstances, but from the way both men had laughed the captive felt exceptionally foolish.

The elf was the first to recover, coughing into his fist in a half-hearted attempt to hide the last of his chuckling. “Was that a serious question?”

“You could have just said no.” the human mage huffed, mild embarrassment coloring her cheeks. The parts that weren’t still covered with mud, at least.

“Apologies.” the elf offered, though the captive wasn’t convinced of his sincerity. “No, we are not with the Chantry.”

“Solas is an apostate. Unlike you-” There was something in the Seeker’s tone the captive didn’t care for. She chose to believe it unintentional. “-he has experience far outside those of a typical Circle mage. And Varric...” Cassandra trailed off, glancing in the direction of the dwarf, lip curling slightly as if the very idea of the man offended her.

“Varric Tethras,” the dwarf introduced, going as far to give a showy little bow. “Charming rouge, dashingly handsome storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.” At this he winked in the Seeker’s direction and chuckled, as if he’s just made some private joke. “But, technically, I’m a prisoner just like you.”

“As we are giving introductions allow me to give one proper.” the bald man said, his smile friendly. “I am Solas. I am pleased to see you yet live. What Cassandra says is correct, I am an apostate. Though I believe all mages are considered as such these days.”

Something in his introduction made the captive pause. I am pleased to see you yet live. The mark across her bare hand tingled, the sensation having nothing to do with the mountain air. She’d almost forgotten that...thing, whatever it was, was killing her. A new ache settled in her bones, different from all her bruises. 

Solas seemed to be looking at her expectantly. The brunette blinked slowly before realization dawned on her. “Oh, this would be the part where I introduce myself. There’s just one problem,” she paused, laughing nervously. “I don’t really...remember my name.”

Cassandra settled her arms across her chest, her expression set in its usual disapproving manner. Her mouth a thin line and her eyes hard. The elf said nothing, expression falling only slightly. He seemed to be observing the other mage more intently, watching her eyes and movements as she fidgeted in the silence stretching between the company. A gauge of her truthfulness, pondering what purpose lying served. He wasn’t the only one either; the captive could feel the weight of Varric’s gaze on her other side.

The Seeker huffed, finding little humor in what she no doubt saw as a poor attempt at humor. “Now is hardly the time for-”

“I’m not joking.” the captive insisted, tucking the borrowed staff into the crook of her elbow. “I don’t remember anything before waking up in that cell- about me, anyway. I think I said something about it before.”

“Truly?” Cassandra frowned, though hardly sounded convinced. “I thought you were being facetious.”

“Facetious?” the human mage repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“She means ‘a smart-ass’.” Varric clarified, but there was less humor in his voice.

“What do you remember?” Solas prompted as the small group began to move again. As concerning as the matter of potential amnesia was, the Breach would wait for no one. Least of all for missing memories. “There must be something.”

The captive was quiet for several steps, her free hand reaching up to twist the now shorter ends of her hair between her fingertips. Some of the died mud finally cracking off and falling free. Absently she chewed at her bottom lip in thought. It still tasted like dirt and blood. The brunette may have put on a calm enough front when talking of it- it was much easier to make light of such things, after all- but when she put serious thought into the matter was when the fear began twisting the pit of her stomach. It was an unnerving feeling, not knowing who you were.


	3. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All new content from this point on! (Wish me luck.)

“Bernadette.”

“No.”

An impromptu guessing game had begun as the group continued along the snowy path. Perpetuated nearly entirely by Varric, the dwarf’s name choices growing increasingly more ridiculous. The mud covered woman was starting to think that this wasn’t so much a serious endeavor as he just liked to hear himself talk. Annoying Cassandra must have been an additional bonus because when the Seeker had stalked ahead of the group only three names into the so-called game Varric had laughed.

“Perhaps Delilah?” Solas offered, falling in stride with the brunette. “Evangeline?”

“Oh, those are nice,” the captive admitted before shaking her head. She had hoped that one of them would list a name and it would just...click. Even if she didn’t remember surely she could still recognize her own name.

Varric snapped his fingers. “Gracie! You look like a Gracie.”

“Wait!” She stopped short. Even Cassandra paused to glance back over her shoulder. “No.”

The dwarf let out an audible groan, one hand reaching up to rub at his face. “Flora, then.”

“Varric.”

“No, that’s my name. We can’t both be called Varric, it would be confusing.”

“ _Enough_ ,” Cassandra’s voice cut through the conversation, effectively ending it. “We’re nearing the forward camp. No more of this nonsense.”

“But-” the captive opened her mouth but the Seeker’s glare left no room to argue. She shut her mouth, pressing her lips together and dropping her gaze to the path under her feet. Cassandra was right, of course, this was no time to play the name game.

She sighed, rolling her shoulders and feeling her back pop in several places. Without the distraction of Varric’s game the brunette had nothing left to focus on but how much she hurt and how much mud still coated her. She could think about what was ahead, Cassandra’s plan, the Breach, but that was nearly as unknown as her name. It was daunting. If she made it through the day the captive decided she wanted nothing more than to sleep for a week.

“Perhaps it isn’t as bad as you think.”

The mud covered mage blinked, slowly looking up to find Solas still matching pace beside her. His smile was small, brief, but friendly. It was warm, anyway. The first real smile she remembered seeing since her time in the cell. Varric’s had been bluff and bravado. An unspoken boost of confidence. Cassandra’s face had only varied between annoyed and angry, though the captive supposed the other woman was well in the right to be both.

“What is?” she asked at last.

“Not remembering yourself,” the elf clarified, turning his gaze forward. “It can be frightening, yes, but think of it as a new beginning. Now you have the chance to become the person you wanted to be.”

“But,” her eyebrows knit together, glancing over at the sparse scattering of trees along the path. Several small birds took to the air, chittering loudly amongst themselves before disappearing from sight. “If I don’t remember anything about myself how will I know ‘the person I wanted to be’?”

“Ah,” Solas chuckled, tipping his chin down in a short nod. “A flaw in my logic.”

She hummed softly in thought but said nothing. He could very well be right, she supposed. There were positive ways to see her situation. This could be her chance for a fresh start, without whatever burdens and grief she might have been carrying before. Still, the human mage couldn’t shake her lingering doubt. What if she’d forgotten something, someone, important?

“Veronica!” Varric’s voice rang out, causing the captive to nearly trip over her staff in surprise.

“What? No.”

“What did I say?” Cassandra demanded, warning in her voice. It wasn’t difficult for the brunette to imagine the Seeker come stalking back and finding a way to separate them like unruly children. Or perhaps she would just clobber one of them upside the head with her shield and drag them the rest of the way to the forward camp, to prove a point. 

The rest of the way was traveled in silence.

The forward camp was small, little more than supplies and soldiers set up across the length of another bridge. It must have been constructed recently, and in a hurry, as crates and planks of wood were being used for makeshift tables and extra storage shelves. A flimsy tent had been erected near the far end, little more than sticks and spare cloth, with a Chantry banner beside it. A bright spot of color amid the gray stone and snow. Silently the captive wondered who had seen to it’s construction when the soldiers seemed so preoccupied with other matters.

Even from this distance arguing could be heard. Leliana, with her light accent slowly giving rise to her growing anger, and a man the captive did not recognize in voice or appearance. Not that she seemed to have recognized much of anyone since her time in the cell. The man’s robes gave him away as a member of the Chantry, his face sour and unfriendly. As they drew closer the brunette noted the sparsest bit of stubble forming on the man’s chin.

_It doesn’t make him look any better_ , the captive noted. Unlike Varric’s scruff this didn’t add to the man’s charms. If anything it made him seem as if he couldn’t be bothered to shave. Or perhaps he’d forgotten that he could grow facial hair.

“Ah,” the Chantry man paused in his bickering, all but dismissing Leliana as he caught sight of the approaching group. “Here they are.”

The purple-clad woman pressed her lips into a thin line, eyes narrowing ever so slightly before she too turned her attention ahead. “Chancellor Roderick, this is-”

“I know who she is,” the Chancellor snapped. The captive’s eyes widened slightly, fresh hope bubbling in her chest. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I order you to take the prisoner to Val Royeaux to face execution.”

That had not been what she had wanted to hear. “Now wait-”

“Order me?” The Seeker repeated, offense and disdain painted across her face. “You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!”

“And you are a thug,” Roderick sniffed, looking down his nose at the armor clad woman. Quite the feat, considering Cassandra was a good several inches taller than the Chancellor. “But one who supposedly works for the Chantry. Or has that changed?”

This time it was Leliana who spoke, a dangerous edge to her voice. “We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor. As you well know.”

“Justinia is dead!” Roderick slammed his fist on the makeshift table, nearly collapsing it. “We must elect a replacement and listen to her orders on the matter. Until then this criminal-”

“Is standing right here.” The mud covered mage narrowed her eyes, wondering if she could even look intimidating through the grime. “But, please, continue talking about me as if I wasn’t.”

“You shouldn’t even be here!” The Chantry man all but snarled, face reddening. Any composure he’d retained was fast fading. “This is your mess! You brought this on us in the first place!”

With a great deal of effort Roderick stopped his tirade, one hand reaching up to cover his face. For several moments he did nothing but breathe, shoulders rising and falling in exaggerated movements. When the Chancellor dropped his hand his face was no longer red.

“Call a retreat, Seeker.” The anger had faded from his voice leaving him sounding tired. As if all his spirit had left, burned away by his temper. “Our position here is hopeless.”

Cassandra straightened, pulling her shoulders back. Her armor caught a patch of sunlight through the snowfall, glinting. “We can stop this before it’s too late.”

The Chancellor remained unimpressed. “How? You won’t survive long enough to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers.”

“We must get to the temple. This is the quickest route!”

“But not the safest,” Leliana spoke up. The captive had almost forgotten the redheaded woman was there; she’d been so quiet through Roderick’s yelling. “There is another way. Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.” She gestured, pointing out the rising shape of mountaintops through the gathering snow.

Cassandra huffed. “We lost contact with an entire group of scouts in that area. The path is too risky. We can’t take that chance.”

“Listen to me,” Roderick pleaded. There was almost compassion in his voice. “Abandon this now before more lives are lost!”

The sky crackled, briefly flooding the area with green light. The captive’s knees buckled, her borrowed staff the only thing that kept her on her feet. She thought she felt a hand on her back, trying to steady her, but the sensation was lost through the pain as the mark on her hand flared.

“Hnn,” the mage had to clench her jaw to keep from crying out. Both the pain and the green glow were short lived, but Roderick looked over at her as if all his worst suspicions had been confirmed. 

_The Maker has a terrible sense of humor_ , she thought bitterly. Once the burning in her bones had subsided the brunette was able to right herself. Secretly she was thankful Cassandra had insisted that she carry a staff. If she had ended up on the ground she might not have gotten back up.

“There is no time,” Cassandra repeated, turning to look the mud covered woman over. “How do you think we should proceed?”

“Me?” the captive wheezed, voice cracking around the word. “Why are you asking me?”

“You have the mark.” It was the first time Solas had spoken since entering the camp. The captive decided it was entirely unhelpful.

“We will only bicker,” Cassandra’s words were bitter but her face was set. The intensity was difficult to look at but the mage found herself unable to look away. “A choice must be made.”

The brunette turned, eyes tracing the rising slope of the mountain Leliana had pointed out before. Cassandra said charging the temple would be faster. No doubt a flatter path would make for easier travel, and she was already so sore. But...the mage paused, chewing her lip. The dry skin cracked under her teeth and for a moment all she could taste was the coppery tang of blood. She decided then.

“We take the mountain path. If we’re lucky we find your missing people on the way.”

The Seeker’s eyes widened ever so slightly. A subtle change in her expression before the determination returned. Whatever answer she had been expecting from the captive that hadn’t been it. “Very well. We must hurry.”

“On your head may the consequences lie, Seeker.” Roderick hissed a final warning as they passed.

“What a pleasant man,” the brunette grumbled, earning a quiet chuckle from Varric.


	4. Mountain Path

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to everyone who took the time to give this story a kudos or bookmark and the one lovely person who left a comment! Thanks so much guys, it really means a lot.

The ladder creaked underfoot and a particularly strong gust of mountain wind sent the captive leaning into it, clutching the wood tighter for fear of falling off. Her hair whipped around her face, obscuring her vision with flakes of mud as they blew free. At least she was getting cleaner, in a manner of speaking.

“This was a stupid idea,” she grumbled, every muscle in her body protesting as she began to climb again. The mage had greatly underestimated the number of ladders involved with taking the mountain ‘path’.

“It was your idea!” Varric called out from somewhere behind her. She hated that he was right. But, really, who let someone who couldn’t even remember her own name make travel decisions?

Eventually the many ladders and questionably rickety wooden walkways led to a hole in the mountainside. Rocks had been cleared away, some still resting on the wooden platform in little piles by the entrance. Though the darkness of the cavern obscured her vision the captive thought she could make out carvings along the walls. Delicate line work leading off into the shadows. The ground seemed to have patches of tiled stonework, too, now that she was paying attention.

“Fancy, for a mining tunnel,” the brunette whistled, tapping the heel of her boot against the flooring.

“This is no mining tunnel,” Cassandra stepped inside the cavern, unbothered by the lingering darkness. “Before the Temple of Sacred Ashes’ rediscovery these paths were used by a dragon worshiping cult that once occupied the area.”

“Uh, cult?” the mage repeated, eyeing the darkness warily. It was a relief to be out of the snow and wind but there was little other comfort about the area. “No one said anything about a cult. Or dragons.”

“Worry not. The cultists were removed shortly after the end of the Blight.” The Seeker turned, her expression was hard to distinguish in the shadows but the other woman could tell she was being scrutinized. “Do you honestly think Most Holy would have risked cultists interrupting the Conclave?”

“I...suppose not.” Not for the first time the brunette felt abysmally foolish for her questions. The stubborn side of her wanted to argue, to defend herself, but the rest of her feared making matters worse. “Let’s just keep moving.”

The group continued on in silence, the only sounds between them were their footsteps echoing off the walls, the faint magical crackle emitting from Solas’ staff to light their way, and the louder breathing from the captive. It was getting harder to move, to breathe. She wanted to imagine she was just exhausted with everything that had happened today. Several battles, falling off a bridge, hours kneeling on the damp ground in a dark cell, whatever had transpired at the Conclave. Anyone would be tired. Most would be dead.

The mage flexed her bare fingers against the wood of her borrowed staff. The residual magic ingrained in the wood flared, warming her skin. Or it should have but the only feeling came from the strange mark across her palm. It tingled as if the entire hand was numb, the sensation creeping steadily along her arm. Cassandra had mentioned this whatever-it-was spreading. Was this what she’d meant?

Varric shifted the crossbow on his shoulder, elbowing the woman gently in the side. “How you holding up, Birdie?”

“I-” she paused, glancing down at him from the corner of her eye. The staff-light cast odd shadows across the dwarf’s face. “Birdie?”

Something ghosted across his face, an expression that came and went so quickly she couldn’t identify it. Replacing it was that slightly crooked grin he’d worn when they’d first met and the sound of laughter rumbling in his chest. “Well, I have to call you something, don’t I?”

“Yeah but ‘Birdie’?”

“What, you don’t like birds?”

An awkward silence fell between them when she didn’t respond. Cassandra had increased the pace as light from the exit became visible. She seemed unhindered by her heavy armor and even less so by the earlier fall when the bridge out of Haven collapsed.

_Must be nice_ , the captive thought bitterly. She fought the urge to rub at her eyes when the light from Solas’ staff blinked away. The sunlight from the exit was much harsher, reflecting off the snowfall. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust.

“No!” Cassandra gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. When the hand fell away her expression changed, almost as if it had taken the shock and surprise with it. Her jaw clenched, fingers tightening around the hilt of her sword. “What could have done this?”

In the mouth of the tunnel’s exit lay the bodies of several men, all clad in matching armor. Blood splattered against the snow, bright and red, filling the area with a sharp and coppery scent. One man had attempted to crawl away. He’d made it several feet, if the bloodied trail behind him was any indication, before catching the attention of whatever had attacked. Large claw marks marred his armor, cutting clean through the iron. His arm lay several paces away.

“This can’t be all of them,” Varric said quietly. The captive wondered if he knew how many people were in a standard scouting party or if he was simply trying to convince himself.

“We must hurry.” Cassandra barely finished the sentence before she began to move. Her long, purposeful strides carrying her across the snow, a different sort of fire in her eyes. For the moment the Seeker had a new target. “We may still find someone.”

The wind seemed harsher now outside the tunnel, kicking snow into the air. The flakes caught the sunlight, white on the gray stone of the mountainside. For a moment it was blinding. If anyone else was bothered they hide it better than her, the captive squinting her eyes as the group moved.

“Do we know where they could have gone?” It seemed unlikely to the human mage that Cassandra would simply start moving without a direction in mind.

“This is still a path,” Solas spoke from half a stride in front of the brunette. Not for the first time she found herself wondering idly how he seemed so unbothered by the cold and snow, especially with his bare feet. “We encountered no one in the tunnel or before. Logically they must be in this direction. If there are any to be found.”

She hummed in thought, though the sound was likely swallowed by the wind. Something had been bothering her since they’d found the corpses of the missing scouts. It wasn’t how violently they had been killed, though that would likely linger in the back of her mind for days. Turquoise eyes widened as realization finally clicked into place.

“Solas! The man who tried to crawl away. He wasn’t trying to leave the tunnel, he’d been trying to make it inside. So then-”

The elf turned, looking over his shoulder and holding the other mage’s gaze for a heartbeat. “Yes, it’s more likely we will come across what attacked the scouts before we locate any survivors.”

“Comforting,” the brunette murmured, fighting the urge to look around. Those scouts had been trained, hadn’t they? Of course they had. No one sent people into someplace unknown without having them know how to fight. There had been more of them, too. 

Can four people handle what a trained scouting unit couldn’t? The thought didn’t sit well with her.

“Demons!” The Seeker’s shout carried across the wind at the exact moment the mark on the captive’s hand flared.

Green light crackled, sparking like lightning against he wood of her borrowed staff. The numbness that had been creeping steadily along her arm faded, feeling returning to the flesh twofold. Unfortunately that feeling was the bone-searing pain she’d experienced in the cell. The captive screamed, clutching at her wrist with her still-gloved hand.

Cassandra charged forward, meeting the Shade with the force of her shield.The creature shrieked, reeling back, and the Seeker’s blade found shadow-flesh before the demon recovered. The armor clad woman turned back to the human mage, a thousand questions on her lips, but all that came out was “On your feet!”

“Give her some space, Seeker!” Varric retorted, eyes narrowed against the glare of sunlight on snowfall. Another demon cried out as an arrow struck it. If the creature had eyes it would have been a fatal shot. Instead the demon shook off the arrow and hissed, its focus on the dwarf renewed. “Well, shit!”

The captive struggled to move as Solas began casting. She could see it on the far edge of her blurring vision, the swirling green mass that signaled another rift. Behind it, almost lost in the light, unfamiliar people struggling to fight their own demons. The remaining scouts? They must be.

“Move,” she willed her legs. This was no time to be idle. She couldn’t kneel in the snow while the others were fighting. This pain was nothing, she had to tell herself that. This was nothing and she could act despite it. “ _Move!_ ”

The borrowed staff fell to the snow covered ground without a sound, forgotten as the brunette mage lurched forward. From somewhere behind her the captive heard Cassandra shout, demand to know where she was going. The mage made no attempt to respond, eyes on the rift in front of her. 

_Move, move, move!_

Twice she stumbled, slipping on the fresh snowfall as she ran. Her ungloved hand reached out as she neared the rift. Green light from the mark on her hand arched, reaching for the matching lights of the rift. A spark ignited as they connected, sending a shockwave through the area as the rift fell in on itself and disappeared. 

Demons howled as the last of the green light faded, some clawing at themselves in agony. One turned, fixing its eyeless face on the human mage and snarled. It was different from the others, a golden crest along its head and back The different Shade left its fellows to the remaining members of the scouting party for new prey. It moved with surprising speed, claws outstretched as it closed the gap between them.

“Oh no.” Panic bubbled hot and acidic in her chest. There wasn’t time to ready a spell but if she did nothing the demon would kill her.

Her hand remembered before her fear-clouded mind, gripping tight to the dagger in her belt. Metal met demonic claws with a clang and the captive scrambled back from the creature. The pain from before didn’t hinder her movement, either gone or drowned by adrenaline it didn’t matter.

The demon was undeterred, lunging for her again. It keeps close leaving the mage without a chance for spellwork. The captive’s hand was shaking now. With only one dagger she couldn’t avoid or counter all of the demon’s strikes, even with agility on her side. Her feet were slipping, struggling to find purchase of the snowy ground, and the demon seemed to be growing used to her clumsy movements.

A hand gripped the captive by the back of her clothing. The brunette struggled, fearing the worst, but before she could swing the dagger in defense she was yanked from her feet. Unceremoniously the captive hit the snowy ground an impressive distance away from the crested demon and tumbled. She lay there dazed and confused as the scattered snow settled around her.

“That was quite reckless.” The human mage recognized Solas’ voice though she couldn’t see him. When the bald elf stepped into her line of sight he was frowning, both her borrowed staff and his own in hand.

“What-?”

“Cassandra is dealing with the remaining demon.” Solas explained as the captive struggled to her feet again. “I will admit, I did not expect her to toss you from the fight.”

“Then you haven’t dealt with the Seeker much have you?” Varric chuckled but the sound was forced and at odds with the thin line of his mouth. He turned, eyes sweeping quickly over the brunette. “You still in one piece, Birdy?”

“Everything hurts again,” she all but whined. If she was anything but a giant bruise by nightfall it would be by the blessing of the Maker.

“Lady Cassandra!” One of the scouts called, drawing attention back to the Seeker. 

The armored woman sheathed her blade. Though her face remained stern it seemed to have softened ever so slightly at the sight of the small group of remaining scouts.

“Thank Andraste you arrived when you did,” the scout continued, saluting as she approached. “We wouldn’t have been able to hold them off much longer.”

“I am glad you are alright,” Cassandra’s voice lacked its usual steel, actual relief painting the edges of her words. She straightens then, proper composure regained. “But do not thank me. Taking this path was the prisoner’s idea.”

“The prisoner?” The scout repeated as her fellows murmured their confusion behind her. When she turned the brunette waved awkwardly. “Well, no matter. We’re grateful for the aid. Is the path clear? May we return to camp, Lady Cassandra?”

“Dismissed,” the Seeker gave a short nod of her head. One of the scouts gave an audible sigh of relief, though he was ignored. Cassandra turned, facing the two mages and the dwarf, gesturing with her right hand. “That path leads to the Temple and the Breach. Let us put an end to this nightmare.”


	5. The Chapter in Which the Main Character Finally Gets a Name

The Temple of Sacred Ashes must have been breathtaking once. It wasn’t hard for the captive to imagine it rising high into the skyline. Draped all in the red-and-gold of the Chantry heraldry with stonework so delicate it must have been a gift from the Maker himself. It was strange to think she had been here only days- hours?- ago. Strange to think- no, see, realize so much had changed.

In a way the Temple could still be called such- breathtaking- but for entirely different reasons. Now the Temple had crumbled, fallen in on itself to where it was little more than half-walls and rubble. Fire still burned on the ground, the walls, the bodies. Maker, the bodies. Many were unrecognizable, a small blessing. Little piles of burnt clothing, a stray helmet, the glint of charred jewelry. The mage could pretend, even a little, that they hadn’t been alive. Save herself from one more nightmare if she ever could sleep again. 

But there were other bodies in the smoldering rubble and it was impossible to pretend they had been anything other than alive. Some had armor melted to them like a second skin. Most had been attempting to flee, arms outstretched and mouths open in a perpetual silent scream. The smell of burning flesh, melted metal, and smoke made it hard to breathe. The captive found herself suddenly grateful that she hadn’t been fed anything. It would have only ended up on the ground and given Cassandra another reason to berate her fro wasting time.

What if this is my fault? The thought settled uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. What if Cassandra is right? What if I caused this?

“Good, you made it.” Leliana’s quiet voice startled the captive back to reality. It took a great deal of effort, or perhaps a majority of tired muscles, for the mage not to physically jerk in surprise. The purple clad woman stepped out from the shadows, a bow and quiver of arrows slung about her shoulders. “This way.”

Through what must have been the main doors, over the rubble of a collapsed archway, and down a remarkably intact hallway the group arrived in the main hall of the Temple. Or what was left of it. The space was largely demolished, all rubble and scorched stone. The entire ceiling was gone as if it had never existed. 

The Breach itself seemed to be little more than a swirling green mist, crackling with odd bursts of static. It hung thick and heavy, covering most of the room, and obscuring everything with an unnatural green tint. Closed, the captive assumed, but unstable. Trying to rip open again.

“How do you feel?” Solas asked from her right. His focus was in front of them, on the swirling fog of the Breach, but he seemed to be waiting for her response.

The human mage blinked, opening her ungloved hand and looking down at her palm. “It doesn’t hurt yet,” she decided, flexing the hand as she spoke. “Most likely since this Breach seemed closed. But it tingles. Like chain lightning right before you cast.” Then, almost as an after thought, the brunette ran her tongue across her teeth and added “And it makes my teeth feel wonky.”

The elf said nothing, giving her only a glance and the faintest ghost of a smile, before turning to face the Seeker. “If left alone the Breach will most likely force itself open once more, this time with more devastating consequences.”

“What do you suggest?” Leliana spoke first, eyes scanning the rubble of the ruined Temple interior.

“We open the Beach and this time seal it proper. Correctly done the area should stabilize and we no longer have to worry about the Breach tearing open. However, opening it is likely to attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons. Prepare yourself!” Cassandra spoke loud enough for the surrounding handful of soldiers and scouts to hear. They were beginning to move now, spreading out through the room, cautiously skirting the edges of the green mist as they filed into their positions.

_“What’s going on here?”_ The voice echoed off the walls of the Temple, set off by a crackle of energy through the Breach. The captive recognized it as her own, though she hadn’t spoken.

_“What’re you doing, Trevelyan?”_ A second voice hissed, so low and quiet it was almost drowned out by the ambient noise of the Breach. It was a man’s voice. One she didn’t recognize.

The captive felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips. Trevelyan. That must have been her name. Or half of it, at least, but half a name was more than she had started the day with. If they weren’t standing amidst fire and death, ready to stare down whatever monster crawled out of the Breach she might have laughed. She had her surname. It was progress.

_“Go!”_ A third voice cried out, such desperation in her voice that the mage’s moment of good feeling evaporated. _“You must run! Warn them!”_

“Most Holy,” Cassandra breathed, eyes skirting the shadows. Hopeful, as if wanting to believe the Divine would step from them, but ultimately disappointed. “Solas, what are we hearing?”

“Echoes from the Fade.”Solas answered. “Pieces of what happened here.”

The Seeker turned, rounding on the human mage. “Then you were there!”

“I never said I wasn’t!” Trevelyan attempted to defend herself, fighting the urge to take a step back.

“Then the Divine!” Cassandra reached out, taking the brunette by the shoulders and giving her a firm shake. “Is she alive? Tell me.”

“I-I don’t...” the mage faltered. There was desperation in the Seeker’s eyes, clinging to the edges of her rock steady voice, chipping away at her resolve. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

The armored woman turned, lip curling, as she released Trevelyan and faced the Breach anew. Cassandra’s hand tightened around the hilt of her sword. “We should focus on the Breach.”

“I’m sorry,” the captive murmured, knowing the words held no real weight. What did it matter if she was sorry? Sorry never brought anyone back. Instead Trevelyan rolled her shoulders, hoping to work her sore muscles into a more manageable state, before she extended her bare hand into the mist of the Breach.

The breach exploded, ripping a hole into the Fade with enough force to scatter several of the closest soldiers. They recovered quickly, scrambling to their feet and gathering their weapons. At first there was nothing, no change in the area save for the ominous green light flooding the room and the crackle of energy from the Breach. 

It was strange, the human mage decided, being so close to the Fade physically. It set gooseflesh off across her skin, all the magic in her veins screaming this was wrong, she shouldn’t be here. There was a strange sort of pressure building. As if there was a blade to the back of her neck, just about to press into the skin. It felt...familiar...It felt...

Trevelyan shook her head, aiming to dispel the feeling. She reached out her marked hand, green light sparking from her palm to the Breach. It hurt. No, ‘hurt’ would have been a mercy. It felt as if her blood had turned to fire. Everything was pain, so much worse than what she had felt with the smaller rifts. Her vision swam, large black spots dancing in front of her eyes. She teetered, unsteady on suddenly weak legs, and if it hadn’t been for Solas reaching out to steady her Trevelyan would have ended up on the Temple floor.

Then she heard it. A low, rumbling laughter echoing through the room. She bristled. “Something’s coming!”

“Well, shit!” Varric cursed, crossbow at the ready. Bianca all but shone in the eerie green light of the Breach. There was something about the dwarf and his crossbow, something Trevelyan felt she knew but couldn’t quite reach. What was it?

Lightning crackled as the demon emerged, arcing from blade to armor to skittering across the rubbled ground as if it were alive. Several of the men cried out, though it seemed to be from surprise rather than pain. The demon was monstrous, towering over any of the people. If the Temple had still retained its ceiling the creature would have no doubt broken though it. Electricity sparked along its flesh, crackling and popping. It turned its great horned head, too many eyes watching the soldiers below, and it grinned.

_Pride_ , her mind whispered.

One of Leliana’s arrows soared through the air, finding it’s mark in one of the Pride demon’s many eyes. The creature roared and the unnatural stillness of the room shattered.

“To arms!” Cassandra shouted, drawing her sword. The demon roared again but this time its cry was echoed by the soldiers as they charged, weapons high.

Trevelyan struggled to right herself, to steady her feet and shaking knees. Solas needed his hands free to cast, she needed to be casting. It didn’t matter how much opening the Breach had staggered her. This wasn’t a fight she could be idle for.

Several barriers sprung up before the soldiers as Pride retaliated, slamming its fists down. The magical energy bowed under the force of the blow, electricity skittering across the surface. Solas turned to face her, sweat beginning to form on his brow.

“Focus on the Breach,” he told her, as if he had known she would make for the demon. “You’re the only one who can seal it.”

“But-”

“All the heroics in the world won’t matter if you fall in battle and the Breach swallows us all.”

The soldiers cried out, scattering, as the demon broke through the magic barriers. Solas turned, the air around him cooling as he gathered his mana. The spell struck the demon in the face, frost crystalized, spiking into ice shards as it spread. Pride roared, clawing at its face.

Cassandra struck out as the other soldiers recovered their footing. Her blade landed with a shower of sparks and a burst of electricity, but little else. Leliana and the few scouts scattered about the edges of the room loosed arrows at a rate only bested by Bianca, though most seemed to only irritate the monster.

Trevelyan moved carefully, skirting around the edges of the battle in an attempt to not draw attention to herself. Though they seemed like ants to the massive creature the soldiers and scouts were doing well to hold its attention. The last thing she wanted to do was draw the monster’s attention when she was unprepared. She reached out, ungloved hand beginning to spark green as it reacted to the energy of the Breach.

For a moment nothing. Trevelyan’s heart clenched painfully in her chest as her panic flared. Then a burst of green light from her palm, brighter than ever before. It sparked violently, creating arches of green lightning so large and jumbled it seemed as if she were now connected to the Fade by tangled knots and string.

Several things happened at once: the Breach flickered as Trevelyan attempted to seal it, pulsating with the uneven and staggered staccato of her heartbeat, Pride roared in pain as several blades found purchase and scattered the creature’s discolored blood on the stone. The faintest of grins tugged at the corners of the mage’s mouth as realization dawned.

Pride turned, staring down at the human with ice-clouded eyes. It rumbled, low and threatening. A storm about to break open. Cassandra shouted something the mage didn’t hear as she watched the creature tense.

Trevelyan groaned. “Not again.”

She began to move at the same instant the demon did, scrambling across the broken stonework as fast as he tired legs could take her. Pride was faster, easily covering more distance with its powerful legs, but the mage was smaller. Trevelyan sprinted back they way the company had entered the Temple, back towards the still standing columns and archways.

The mage turned, nearly throwing herself to the ground to make the sharp movement, just avoiding what was once the entrance of the Temple. Pride was not so quick. The demon barreled through the archway, bringing stone and the remaining bits of ceiling down around its head. Trevelyan screamed, narrowly avoiding being crushed by debris.

Trevelyan drew her lungs full of air, willing tired muscles to move again as Pride screamed behind here. A few rocks falling on it wasn’t about to stall the monster for long. Fire burned in her blood, her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Everything hurt, hurt more than her tumble off the bridge.

_Closer, closer..._

She could see Cassandra shouting as she neared the Breach, but couldn’t make out the words. Several arrows flew past her, no doubt an attempt at slowing Pride. Trevelyan reached out her hand, stretching her arm as the demon’s claws loomed over her. Green light burst forth, blinding her. A terrible cracking noise, screaming, then silence.

Pride towered over the mage, poised to strike but still. Then, slowly, the monster began to crumble. It fell in on itself, the green flesh falling away like sand. All at once nothing remained but a pile of discolored dust scattering to the winds and lingering static in the air. The soldiers cheered, they must have, but Trevelayn didn’t hear it.

The brunette buckled, feeling the last reserves of her strength vanishing with the Breach. Black spots swam across her vision growing into blotches and threatening to swallow her whole. Dimly she was aware of voices. Or what might have been voices. The sound was like listening to someone miles away and underwater. She couldn’t make out the words.

_“Lark!”_

_Oh,_ she thought as the darkness closed in around her. _That’s my name._


	6. Bonus: While the Herald Sleeps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short semi-chapter. Obviously there's no way for Lark to know about anything that happens while she's dead to the world from sealing the Breach but I felt I should write about it a little.

The back room of Haven’s Chantry was small, barely big enough to hold the heavy oak table and a handful of people. Candles were clustered on every available surface to provide decent lighting, some dripping wax onto the edges of the map. The Amaranthine Sea was all but illegible through running ink and wax. The smell of incense lingered, though none had been burned in the room for days.

“What do we know?” Cullen began. He leaned heavily on the table, palms flat, as if expecting the map to give up something besides cold wax and smudged ink.

“Little,” Cassandra responded. The Seeker stood on the opposite side of the table, armor catching the candlelight, arms crossed and stance wide. Her lips were pressed into a thin line. The irritable expression had been set on her face since she’d returned to Haven from the forward camp three days ago.

“Plenty,” Leliana argued. From what little shadows there were she stepped closer to the table and pressed a glove finger to the marker signaling Haven on the map. It was a poor visual aid but the only one available. “The Breach may not be sealed entirely but it is stable. My scouts confirmed the apostate’s theory. The Herald-”

“The Herald?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard of it, Commander,” Josephine said, flipping through several of the reports in her hand as she spoke. “Many have taken to referring to the former prisoner as ‘The Herald of Andraste’, owing to her help with the Breach and when she first appeared from the wreckage of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Haven is quite abuzz.” The Antivan woman frowned, scanning her papers again. “Odd, though. I don’t seem to have any record of her name.”

Cassandra made a noise, something caught between an annoyed click of her tongue and a grunt of distaste. “She claims to not remember.”

Leliana turned, a single eyebrow arching. “She remembers nothing?”

“About herself,” the Seeker clarified. “It is very…convenient.”

“You still think she’s involved?” Cullen glanced up, straightening. One hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword, fingers curling around the handle.

“Even after her cooperation in attempting to seal the Breach?” Josephine added. The feather quill in her hand was still, poised above the parchment as she paused in her note taking to listen.

Cassandra was silent for a breath, choosing her next words carefully. Eyebrows knitting together as her frown increased. “With this? The Breach? No, perhaps not. But either this memory loss is a ruse to make her appear innocent or…”

“This is another problem.” It was the redhead’s turn to frown, one hand rising with fingers just brushing against her lips. Her gaze had dropped to one of the candles flickering on the table, eyes narrowing in contemplation.

Josephine hummed softly in thought, returning the quill to the ink pot as she thumbed through her stack of parchment for a third time. “We do have a list of everyone who passed through Haven to attend the Conclave. It is extensive but it’s a start.”

“That could take _weeks_ ,” Cullen fought the urge to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “And even then that isn’t a lead, it’s a guess at best and a waste of time at worst. We don’t have the resources to-” He stopped short, holding up a hand as he recollected his thoughts. “Do we have nothing to go on?”

Leliana shook her head, face solemn. “Without a name there is little to go on. We know the Herald is a mage but there is no guarantee she came from a Circle. Even if we had such a guarantee there are numerous Circles. Which to search? What if the records are gone? Not every Circle fell peacefully.”

“There might be a name,” Cassandra admitted slowly, eyebrows knitting together. “When we approached the Breach there were voices. Solas claimed they were echoes, glimpses of what occurred. If they are to be believed the search should begin with the name ‘Trevelyan’.”

Josephine nodded, quill moving swiftly across the parchment. “The name sounds noble. It would save us a great deal of time if that were true.”

“Then we have a lead.” It was a small miracle, but if they weren’t simply chasing their own shadows then Cullen was grateful.

“Andraste willing,” Cassandra began, turning on her heel. “Perhaps the Herald’s head will be less empty when she wakes. We need more than leads. We need answers.”

The door to the back room swung open, narrowly avoiding catching the Seeker’s nose. In the doorway stood a small elven woman, out of breath as if she had sprinted halfway across Haven. She paled under Cassandra’s glare, retreating half a step from the doorway as she fumbled for her words. “Apologies, Lady Cassandra, but you wished to know right away. The Herald is awake.”


	7. Awake

An unfamiliar ceiling. Rough-looking wooden support beams with drying herbs and flowers suspended from them. The entire room smelling of pine and elfroot, specks of dust floating lazily from the rafters and catching what little sunbeams lingered. As far as waking up in strange places went, Lark decided, there were worse options.

Her entire body felt stiff and her head felt heavy; a stark contrast to the tranquility of the room. Joints protested as she moved, the popping sound louder in the quiet room. Lark groaned and gave up on sitting upright for the moment. The bed was as soft as a straw-filled mattress could be and keeping still kept everything from aching.

“Ah,” a voice spoke near her head, startling the brunette into movement despite her body’s protests. “So Sleeping Beauty finally awakes at last.”

“Varric?” The mage frowned, eyebrows knitting together as she tried to focus her vision properly. For a moment the rogue was simply a collection of smudgy colors- the coppery blonde of his hair, the bright red of his shirt- then she blinked and he came into proper clarity. Her voice cracked at the question, throat dry and scratchy. Lark had to cough before she was able to speak again. “What happened?”

The dwarf was silent for a long moment, reclining as much as was able in the old wooden chair. It squeaked in protest, a high-pitched noise drawn out through the entirety of Varric’s movement, but did not falter. The storyteller folded his hands at his stomach, fingers entwining and thumb tapping out a silent rhythm. 

“What do you remember?” The question was posed innocently enough; Varric’s voice gave away nothing implying trouble, but it gave her pause.

“The Breach!” Lark pushed herself up from the bed, ignoring the way her spine creaked. “Did something happen? Did-”

The room swam violently in front of her eyes, sending the mage toppling back against the straw mattress before she’d gotten her footing proper.

“Now, just hold on a minute here, Birdy.” Varric held up his hands as she tried to sit upright again. “You can’t just go running off like that. Not after being out cold for two days.”

“Then-?”

A cup appeared in her line of sight, offered by the rogue. The dented pewter kept the contents from being seen, but there was little question of what was inside. Carefully Lark propped herself up on an elbow and took the cup. The water was a welcome relief to her parched throat. Lark hadn’t even realized how thirsty she’d been until she started drinking. Twice she’d nearly choked, foregoing air for draining the cup.

“It’s still there,” Varric admitted when Lark finally lowered the cup to breathe. “But our resident elven apostate insists it’s stable now. Not spitting out demons every other second, anyway. Something we’re all grateful for.”

The mage dropped her gaze, watching one of the remaining water drops slide down the inside of the pewter cup. Finding out the Breach still scarred the sky left her feeling worse than her complaining muscles. Guilt settled heavy on her shoulders, an unwanted mantle. They had been so certain it would work. She had been certain.

“I don’t have all the answers,” Varric admitted, that crooked grin of his falling into place on his lips. “As surprising as that must be. No doubt the Seeker will have more details. She’s been...” The dwarf paused, searching for the appropriate word. “Eagerly awaiting your recovery.”

Lark glanced over at her companion, chewing at her lip. “That’s not comforting.”

Varric chuckled. A low, rumbling noise that somehow managed to sound like familiarity. He reached out, giving her knee a quick pat. “She’s not out to kill you, Birdy. Not anymore.”

“Oh, well, everything must be fine then.” The mage pressed her lips together in a thin line, turning the cup around in her hands. “So, it’s been two days?”

“More like three,” the dwarf amended. “That guy we’ve got playing Healer, he’s grumpier than-- Well, even he was worried there for a bit.” He paused to rub at the scruff on his chin, considering. “Might’ve thought you were going to explode, though.”

“Explode?” Lark repeated, eyebrows rising. The corner of her mouth twitched upward, convinced he was joking.

“It’s not as if any of us know what that mark of yours is, or what it does. Exploding seems...possible.”

Lark’s arm shot out, putting the only distance possible between her and the mark across her palm. It did nothing but make her look ridiculous and accidentally send the pewter cup clattering off the bed and onto the floor.

“Oh,” her eyes widened slightly, the word leaving her lips as a quiet breath of surprise. The brunette turned her hand over, inspecting the palm.

“What?” The chair squeaked again as Varric leaned away, eyeing the mage’s hand as if he expected it to kill them both.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore.” If not for the faint green light, the mark across her palm could have been an old scar. The bone-searing pain was no longer there and her hand no longer felt uncomfortably hot. In fact, if Lark hadn’t been looking directly at it she might not have even been aware that the mark was still present. She flexed her fingers, testing, a slow grin crawling across her face. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Andraste’s tits, Birdy,” Varric cursed, relaxing back in the chair with a scowl. “You scared me half to death.”

“Sorry, Varric.” Lark grinned despite herself. She was still stiff and sore, likely from all those tumbles she’d taken before and then lying still in bed for days, but that could be fixed by moving and moving was so much easier now.

The dwarf shook his head, reaching out and patting the mage on the knee once again. “I’ll forgive you this once, Birdy. It’s just good to see you up.” 

“Was it that bad?”

Varric didn’t respond, instead choosing to slide off the chair. He briefly rocked back on his heels, stretching as if he had been seated for hours. “If you’re feeling up to it, I’d go find the Seeker if I were you. It’s worse if she comes looking, trust me. Best to just get it over with.”

“That’s still not comforting,” the brunette frowned. The idea of facing Cassandra was intimidating, if she were perfectly honest. The woman was…intense.

The rogue chuckled, waving casually over his shoulder as he headed for the door. The sound was somehow comforting. “You’ll do fine, Birdy. Just don’t make any sudden moves.”

The door to the little wooden cabin shut with a soft click, leaving Lark alone with her thoughts and the impending threat of Seeker Pentaghast.


End file.
